


It Is What It Is

by simonetta



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Road Trip, F/M, Romance, Slow Burn, Traveling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 06:35:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7423858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonetta/pseuds/simonetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.”</p><p>“Perfect.”</p><p>“You don’t even know where I’m going.”</p><p>“I don’t care. I’d like to go anywhere.”</p><p> </p><p>Bellamy sets off to travel across the country, emulating the travels of John Steinbeck, when a persistent waitress makes him rethink the entire journey.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Is What It Is

**Author's Note:**

> This whole fic is just a clever excuse to use the “oh no there is only one bed what do we do” trope 
> 
> Credit goes out to Steinbeck for inspiring me, this fic, and Bellamy 
> 
> Also please note that I have not been to half of the places these dorks go to and I did minimal research for this so just use your imaginations and I’m sorry if you are from these places (the most offensive example of my ignorance is an entirely false depiction of Rachel, Nevada which has NOTHING in it). 
> 
> Title from Kacey Musgraves

***

I think we're thinking too hard,  
So, put on your shoes and get in your car,  
Put it in drive and point it this way,  
We don't have to talk,  
You don't have to stay

*** 

Its still dark when he packs his truck with everything deemed essential. A book of maps, a shoebox full of CDs, several notebooks and several more pens, a sleeping bag, a duffle bag full of cloths, his camera, and a basic camping kit. He tosses his worn, dog-eared copies of the “Odyssey” and “Travels with Charley” in the passenger’s seat and turns to take one last glance as the shithole apartment building he’s called home for the past year and half.

With a deep sigh Bellamy turns the key in the ignition, leaves Richmond, and feels free for the first time in forever. 

***

He gets to DC just as the morning commute begins and decides to wait it out. Sitting in a shitty diner for three hours sounds a hell of a lot better than sitting on the Beltway for three hours. 

There is a little rundown joint in West Falls Church called Dollie’s that looks just crappy enough to be worth a try. The paint is chipping and the neon “D” is blinking itself to its own demise. A bell announces his arrival but neither the customers at the counter nor the blonde waitress wiping down tables spare him a glance. Bellamy tosses his map on a peeling, plastic table before sliding into the booth. For a few quiet, sleepy minutes he plots out the route he wants to take up the coast. 

“It would be faster to just take the interstate.”

Bellamy jumps at the waitress’s uninterested voice. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t notice her approach. 

She is pretty, he notes, all loose blonde curls and big blue eyes and soft pale skin. There is a mole above her lip and a heavy, masculine watch on her wrist. Despite the peppy, pink 50’s diner dress she wears, Bellamy can see her weariness in the bags under her eyes. Turning away from her upturned brows, he gazes back down at the crisp map in front of him. 

“Taking the interstate would defeat the purpose of my trip.”

“And what would that purpose be?”

“I don’t know really, to see America I guess? To see new people and places. Not gas stations and big cities and tourist towns.”

“So you’re one of them, huh?”

“One of who?”

“Those people who are convinced the world is going to shit and think they can make it better by going on some existential journey to find the true America. You know, the ones who think they are so different and gritty and disillusioned.”

Bellamy is torn between laughing and snarling at her. 

“Or maybe I just want to get away for a while and figured I could learn a bit while I’m at it.”

If she hears the bitterness in his voice she doesn’t make it known. Instead the blonde shrugs and asks him what he wants to eat. After she leaves to get his coffee and fries, Bellamy glares down at his map. He isn’t sure why her words make him so angry.

The waitress returns a moment later with his coffee. “The sugar and cream are there if you want it.” She points to the back of the table where an assortment of synthetic sweeteners and creamers are piled lazily. Bellamy just shakes his head. 

“I like it black.”

She scrunches up her nose. “Of course you do.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes as she walks away. Two cups of coffee later the sun is a bit higher in the sky. Though traffic is probably better by now, at least as improved as it can be in the metro area, something keeps Bellamy sitting in the booth. 

Between sips of the warm, watery coffee he watches people pass by the window. Occasionally he sneaks glances at the blonde waitress. Occasionally he catches her sneaking glances at him. Bellamy is about to drop some money on the table and head out when he notices her approaching him again. Her brow is drawn in determination, eyes locked on him like a target. Waiting for her to get to the table, Bellamy takes another long swig of the God-awful coffee. 

“Take me with you.”

He nearly chokes on the drink. “What?”

The girl slides into the booth across from him; dropping the rag she had been cleaning the counter with and crossing her arms. “Take me with you.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair. This girl had to be kidding. She barely knew him; did she want to get herself killed? 

“I don’t even know your name.”

“Clarke. Clarke Griffin.” She tapped the thick, plastic name-tag on her chest. “Take me with you.”

“You don’t even know my name.”

She shrugs. He sighs. “Bellamy Blake.” 

Clarke holds out a small hand and he shakes it, eying her suspiciously. “I barely know you, Clarke. You barely know me. What if I’m a serial killer? You can’t just get into a random customer’s car.” 

“I’m willing to bet you are not a serial killer.” 

He narrows his eyes at her. 

“I thought your were of the opinion that my trip is a pretentious waste of time.”

She shrugs, looking out the window. “So what? I want to get away and you are going so why not tag along.” 

“I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone.”

“Perfect.”

“You don’t even know where I’m going.”

“I don’t care. I’d like to go anywhere.”

“Look, Clarke-”

“I’ll pay for gas, for hotel rooms, whatever you need.”

“On a waitress’s salary?”

“Believe or not I’m a trust fund kid and guess who just inherited her money.” 

He narrows his eyes again. It is tempting. Clarke isn’t unpleasant to look at and if she was footing the bill… No. He would never let Octavia do something as stupid as this. He isn’t going to let his girl do it either. “No.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Because you don’t know me and I don’t know you. This is insane.”

“I could provide you with quality conversations while driving.”

“No.”

She sighs and looks out the window. “Look, I want to get out of here. I don’t care how long and I don’t care where we go and honestly at this point I don’t care if you axe me to death. I’m tired of my life here. I want to do something reckless; something that I would never have done a month or two ago. Take me with you. What do you have to lose?”

His sanity for one thing. Instead of voicing this thought, however, Bellamy asks her how old she is; that way he can at least be sure he won’t be charged with abducting a minor. 

“Twenty-two.”

“Are you in school?”

“Technically.”

“I may be gone longer than the summer.”

“Perfect.”

“You got family?”

“Yeah.”

“Won’t they miss you?”

She rolls her eyes and huffs. “I don’t care if they do.” 

Before he can answer the middle-aged woman behind the counter barks at Clarke to get back to work. As his prospective companion gets up she doesn’t break eye contact with him. It amazes him how fierce those soft blue eyes can look. “Think about it. I’m off at ten.” 

He does think about it, weighing the pros and cons while staring at his coffee. 

Pros:  
-Free gas, free hotels, free food  
-Someone to talk to and to switch off driving with  
-Clarke is hot  
Cons:  
-Trust fund kid who probably will change her mind an hour in  
-No time to just be alone and think and write which was his original plan after all  
-She’s five years younger than him and he knows nothing about her

***

Forty minutes later Clarke slides back into his booth. Her ridiculous, pink 50’s waiter hat is crumpled in her hand. She steals one of his cold fries and raises an eyebrow, silently questioning him. 

“Why do you want to come with me?” 

“I told you, I’m tired of this town. I want to do something that is totally out of character for me, something irresponsible and unplanned and stupid. I’m sick of being what everyone expects.” 

He chooses not to question why people expect her to work in a third-rate diner, especially if those people are the same one’s responsible for her trust fund. “Why?”

“Does it matter?”

He stares at her for a while, trying to read her. She lets him, helping herself to more fries and copious amounts of ketchup. “You aren’t going to back out of this once we leave are you?”

“I’ll probably regret it but I won’t back out.”

“And you’ll pay for gas and hotels?”

“Yep.”

“I won’t get arrested for kidnapping you?”

“I’m going totally willingly.”

Bellamy chews his lip and looks out the window, mulling over her proposition more as he watches a man try to parallel park in a spot too small for his car. In the end, he figures it’s an offer he can’t refuse. The biggest draw back to this trip was how much it would cost. Gas alone would be a nightmare; he didn’t even entertain the idea of hotels before and brought his sleeping bag and a tent instead. Not having to worry about money would let him relax more and focus on his writing. Besides, Steinbeck had his dog to keep him company; a pretty girl is certainly a step up from that. 

“You got yourself a deal, Princess.”

She scrunches her nose at the nickname but holds out a hand. He shakes it. There’s no going back now. 

“When do we leave?”

“Now.”

“Perfect.” Clarke throws her hat on the table, quickly followed by her apron, and stares down at him expectedly. Struggling not to roll his eyes at her impatience, Bellamy tosses ten bucks next to her abandoned items and joins her. He notes that he has a good few inches of height on her with a poorly hidden smirk. As they walk to the door Clarke declares her resignation and the older woman at the counter couldn’t look more unimpressed. The expression is mirrored on Clarke’s face when she sees his beat-up green Chevy in the parking lot. She holds her tongue though, and Bellamy can’t help but like her a bit more because of it. 

 

***

They stop at Clarke’s place so she can change and get her things. It would be a lie to say he isn’t surprised when they pulled up to a brick apartment building that has seen better days. So far nothing about her has demonstrated she is a trust fund kid and he’s starting to have doubts about whether or not she will hold up her end of their deal. Even so, he keeps his mouth shut and nods when she tells him she’ll be right back. As she disappears into the building, Bellamy hops out of the truck and opens the covered bed to rearrange his gear. It’s more to keep himself busy and therefore unable to talk himself out of this stupid plan than anything else. Its not like he has a lot of stuff. His whole philosophy with this trip has been less is more. He checks his watch, debates calling his sister, and settles with watching a couple of kids chasing each other across the street. They remind him of his own childhood in a complex not too different from this one, though much farther south. 

Clarke pulls him from his thoughts when she reappears clad in black leggings and a faded tank top from a Killers concert. Her hair is pulled back into a messy bun and Bellamy is surprised by his sudden desire to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. 

“Ready?”

She nods and hands him a duffle bag to put next to his things in the bed. He slams the hatchback shut and they part to go to their respective doors. Dropping a large bag at her feet, Clarke quickly buckles her seatbelt and drums a rhythm onto the window with her fingers. “Where to first, Captain?” 

Bellamy shrugs. “I don’t have much of a plan. For now I’m just going up the East Coast.” 

She nods, eying the shoebox of CDs on the bench between them. “Wow, you really are going old school, huh? Map instead of GPS, CDs instead of your phone. What’s next? Are we trading in the ride for a horse and buggy once we hit PA?” 

“Not so much old school as poorly planned and as cheap as possible.” His comment earns him a laugh and he can’t help but smile at the way she tilts her whole head back. “You’re the guest; you can pick our first CD.” 

“What an honor.” 

He just rolls his eyes and pulls onto the road. 

***

Of course she picks the soundtrack to The Lizzie McGuire Movie. It isn’t even his CD, Octavia left it when she moved to California and he couldn’t bring himself to throw it out. It was a staple in their lives for a solid two years when it was all Octavia would listen to and its not like he expected anyone to join him and find it either. Clarke thinks it’s hilarious. 

“I told you it’s not mine,” he repeats as she cackles beside him. 

“Oh please, it’s a classic and honestly I’m impressed that you have enough taste to have it. Though I must say, it really contradicts the whole ‘I’m a disillusioned millennial trying to find the true America and, deep down, myself as well’ aesthetic.” 

His only response is a withering look thrown in her direction. 

However, he can’t stay annoyed with his pretty stranger because as soon as the first song plays she begins belting out the words dramatically. Her enthusiasm is infectious and even his own pride can’t stop him from joining in; amazed that he still remembers the words after so many years. 

***

By the time they emerge from the congestion of DC traffic and find their way onto some small, two lane Maryland highway the mood is light, the windows are down, and Bellamy is starting to think he really doesn’t care if she lied about the money. Sure, he barely knows Clarke. Hell, he can’t even remember what she said her last name is, but at least she’s fun. The CD had ended just as they crossed over into Maryland and Bellamy, demanding a break from her musical preferences, turned on NPR. It earned him another comment about how pseudo-counter-culture he must be, which in turn earned Clarke another eye roll.

Bellamy sneaks a glance at his companion. She’s tucked her legs up on the bench and is leaning her head against the edge of the open window; eyes closed, smiling wide, hair whipping in the wind. He swallows hard and wonders what he has gotten himself into. 

“So you said you’re in school?” 

Clarke turns her head slightly to look at him. She hesitates a moment before responding, “Yeah.” 

“What are you studying?” 

“I got my bachelor’s in biology, minored in art history. Technically I’m in med school but my first day is tomorrow and I’m currently in nowhere, Maryland so I don’t know if it still counts.” 

Bellamy’s eyes widen. “Are you serious?” 

She scoffs, sitting up straighter. “Look, if you are going to lecture me on-”

“No, not at all,” he interjects, holding one hand up from the steering wheel in surrender. “I mean, I’m all for you doing what you want to do, but its just a little surprising to hear I guess.” 

Clarke is silent but he can feel her heavy, inquisitive gaze on him. 

“Art history is cool, though. I have my masters in history, but I took some art history courses in undergrad.” 

“It was a compromise with my parents. I focused on STEM but got to minor in something I found interesting.” 

Ah, that makes more sense then. “So I take it med school wasn’t your plan?” 

“At one point it was I guess. I mean I don’t hate medicine.”

“You would just rather jump into some random guy’s car to travel to fuck knows where for fuck knows how long than go to your first day of medical school.” 

He sees her jaw clench out of the corner of his eye. “What about you, Mr. Disillusionment? If you are going to interrogate me you need to give information up too.” 

He shoots her a look. “Why are you so convinced I’m some Hemmingway type?” 

“Damn, Bellamy. Back at it again with the endless questions.” 

“Real cute.” She smirks. “And for the record all I have asked is what you’re studying and why you’re dipping out on med school. I seem to remember one of your offers while begging me to let you come was your conversational skills.” 

She huffs again and flops back against the seat. It’s a move straight out of Octavia’s playbook. Rather than push her, Bellamy settles for turning up the radio. After raising his sister he knows better than to further annoy Clarke. 

***

“I have an offer.”

Bellamy raises an eyebrow. They’re at a gas station across from a cornfield two hours outside of DC. Clarke is still in the truck; her chin resting on her arms on the open windowsill watching him as he fills up the truck. 

“We ask questions. Back and forth. But if I don’t want to answer I don’t have to.” 

He pretends to consider her offer, exaggerating by lifting his hands as if they are a scale weighing his options. Clarke rolls her eyes. The meter behind him dings signifying his tank is full. After closing the gas cap and handing Clarke the receipt he nods. “Sounds fair enough.” 

“I go first.”

He nods again, pulling his seatbelt on. 

“How old are you?” 

“27.” He pulls back on the highway and Clarke rearranges herself so she is leaning against the door, facing him. It isn’t exactly a safe way to sit but Bellamy doesn’t say anything. “Why art history?” 

“I wanted to be an artist for a while. I loved studying other artists. It fit. Do you have a job?” 

“Not anymore. Are you from DC?”

“Born and raised. Are you?”

“Nope. I was born in Norfolk and raised in Richmond.” They come to the first stoplight in miles and Bellamy looks over at Clarke, contemplating what to ask next. “What is your family going to think about this?” he gestures to himself and the car.

“Pass,” she replies quickly. He gives her a look. “Hey, you agreed to us not having to answer if we don’t want. Light’s green,” she says defensively. 

He huffs and pushes on the gas. “Fine. Favorite color?” When he doesn’t get a response, Bellamy spares a glance over at her. Clarke’s face is scrunched up in indignation. 

“Are you serious? That’s your follow up question?” 

“I offered a more in depth one and you shot it down, Princess.” 

“Don’t call me that. Yellow.”

He gives her an incredulous look. “Yellow? Whose favorite color is yellow?” 

“Mine, obviously. Don’t be such an ass. What’s your favorite movie?” 

“Raiders of the Lost Ark. Why don’t you like me calling you princess?” 

“It was a nickname an ex used. Also it’s condescending and you know it. Why in God’s name do you drink your coffee black?” 

The game goes on for a good twenty minutes. By the end, Bellamy knows Clarke is an only child, her favorite candy is sour gummy worms, her favorite book is “To Kill a Mockingbird,” and her last boyfriend cheated on her. He also knows she doesn’t like pepperoni, loves Chimpanzees, and has never been to a waterpark. This last fact makes him want to cry. 

“So how old is this sister?” Clarke questions as she digs through the CDs. 

“Please pick out some decent music.” Clarke pauses in her search for the sole purpose of giving him a contemptuous look, though he can see the corners of her lips turning up in a small smile. “Octavia is 21. She just moved out to California with her boyfriend.” 

“Ah,” Clarke hums. “So is that why we are searching for meaning across the United States? Is this all a clever ploy to end up in the Golden State?” 

He glances at her briefly. “No,” he replies, but it feels like a lie. “Fine, not totally. I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but her being gone gave me the extra push.” 

Clarke nods and slips a Fleetwood Mac CD into the stereo. They both sit back in comfortable silence and watch Maryland pass by. 

***

Two days later they are in Maine and Bellamy is a little surprised Clarke hasn’t backed out yet. He has certainly noticed the plethora of missed calls and texts she is ignoring and is a little concerned about being charged with kidnapping, but doesn’t bring it up. If he has learned anything about her it’s that she doesn’t want to talk about her family or DC. They are leaning against the back of his truck watching the sun set over the Atlantic ocean and eating salt-water taffies from a little candy store in the last town they passed through. 

“What are you writing about anyways?” she asks, breaking the comfortable silence between them. 

“Who says I’m writing about something?”

She rolls her eyes; it’s becoming a common occurrence. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you writing in that notebook.” 

“Could be a grocery list.” 

She doesn’t dignify that with a response. 

Rubbing a hand through his messy hair, Bellamy sighs. “To be honest I have no idea. I’ve wanted to write a book for a while. When I was in college I did a few pieces for the school’s literary journal, but I want to do something bigger, I guess. I’ve had so many ideas but when I sit down to actually write it I just hit this roadblock.”

“So you are writing about your travels?”

“In high school I read about Steinbeck’s trip across America and since then I wanted to do the same thing, I convinced myself that would be how I found inspiration to actually follow through with a book. I’m not looking to write about the trip, just find something that inspires me to write a different story. My own story, not Steinbeck’s.” 

Clarke looks at him curiously. “Why now?” 

“Like you said, my little sister moving across the country may have been the final push I needed.” 

“I knew it was an excuse to go see her,” she smirks. “That’s cool though, about the book.” 

He glances over at her, searching for a sign of sarcasm. “Not the stereotypical goal of some disenchanted millennial searching for meaning and a way to say fuck you to corporate America while really just buying into the oil market’s schemes?” 

Clarke doubles over in laughter, dropping the taffy she had been unwrapping. “I never said it wasn’t that too,” she finally wheezes out. If Bellamy pats her a little too hard on the back to help her breathe neither one says anything. 

“Why did I agree to bring you again?”

She shrugs; he tries not to think about how cute it is. “Free lodging?” 

“Ah, right. Well get back in. Time to put your talent’s to use.”

***

She finally calls her mom outside a diner in Massachusetts. He sits in the truck and pretends to be doing important things on his phone. Yes, Bellamy may be 27 but he is not above fake texting to eavesdrop on his travelling companion’s phone call. Maybe he should feel guilty about it, but the brother in him wants to make sure Clarke is okay and so when the phone call gets heated he can’t help but listen. Its just bits and pieces he catches, but he can tell it isn’t good. Not that it really surprises him. She’s a trust fund kid who just ditched med school to drive around the country with a stranger. An older, male stranger.

He would kill Octavia if she ever even considered doing the same thing. 

Clarke is wincing and tries not to put too much pressure on her toe when she finally climbs back into the truck. Taking out one’s frustrations on a trashcan can do that. Bellamy pretends he doesn’t see her wipe away a tear. 

“Everything okay?”

“Perfect.” 

He sighs. “Clarke, if you need to we can turn around. I can take you back its no-”

“Bellamy, shut up.” 

For once in his life, Bellamy Blake listens. 

***

They fall into an easy rhythm. 

When she is driving, he leans back against the seat and writes about anything and everything. What towns they pass through, that grouchy waitress who refused to bring them ketchup for Clarke’s eggs, Clarke, the kid that wouldn’t stop throwing rocks at him at a Pennsylvania rest stop, the bear they saw walking along the side of the road, Clarke. More and more he finds himself writing about Clarke. Sometimes it’s the way she looks; singing with her hair whipping in the wind rushing in from the highway. Sometimes it’s the stories she tells him of her childhood or the jokes she makes about some two-road town they pass through. Sometimes he writes about how, even though he’s known her for about a week and he is the definition of nomadic, she makes him feel like he’s already home.

When he drives, Clarke often props her feet up on the dashboard and watches the scenery pass by. He can always tell when she is bored because that’s when she finally opens up about herself. He learns about her best friend Wells who just got his officer’s commission in the Air Force and about Raven who never backs down from a fight and even some kid named Charlotte she use to babysit who ended up in iuvi. When she runs out of stories, or something hits too close to home and she shuts down, or he starts asking too many questions, she’ll stop talking and turn on the radio or pop in a CD. Occasionally, she pulls a sketchbook out of her oversized purse and draws. He tries to sneak glances over at what she is drawing, but she always seems to know and hides it from him.

In a way it makes sense. She barely knows him, if she wants to keep secrets then why should he have a problem with that? In another way, though, it drives Bellamy crazy how she won’t open up. 

But its hard to stay annoyed when she hums along to some old 80’s hit with his baseball cap slung low over her eyes, and her feet matching the rhythm on the dashboard. 

***

For the first week Bellamy is fairly successful at managing the obvious, glaring reality that Clarke Griffin is incredibly attractive. He is also fairly successful at managing the growing affection he feels for her. 

After all, he tells himself, when you spend 24/7 with someone in a cramped truck, its hard not to get attached. It doesn’t mean anything really. She’s his only company and she is attractive so it’s natural that he, a normal 27 year old male, would feel something for her. 

But then, his carefully constructed excuses are all cut down on the 11th day of their trip when Clarke sulks out of the motel office. Even in the dark he can see the scowl on her face and he braces for the news. 

The only motel they have seen in miles of Wisconsin farmland has no vacancy. Great. 

On the plus side, it turns out he is wrong. However, the only motel they have seen in miles of Wisconsin farmland only has one room available and it’s a single. 

“I can just stay in the car, Clarke. I have a sleeping bag its no big deal. This is what I originally planned on doing anyways.” 

Clarke is leaning up against his door, her forearms resting on the open windowsill. She’s close enough that he can see a faded scar just above her eyebrow. 

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m going to feel so shitty if I know you are out here in the cold.”

“You make it sound like I’m sleeping on the street while you are in a five star hotel.” 

“Look, I already paid for the room, it’s not a big deal. We are both adults we can handle sharing a hotel room.” 

He sighs and leans back into his seat, staring at the kitschy office window bedecked with stuffed cows and pictures of cheese. Finally he turns back to her. “Only if you are sure you are comfortable with a stranger sleeping in the same room.” 

Scoffing, Clarke pushes off from the car and moves towards the back of the truck to get her things. “We have spent almost every waking moment of the past 11 days in this damn truck, we are hardly strangers anymore.” 

He ignores the warm feeling in his stomach and hops out to help her get their bags. “I’m going to chose to ignore that you just insulted my pride an joy.” He wipes a corner of the truck with exaggerated affection. 

“You are such a dork. Come on, its room 102.” 

***

Room 102 of the Moo Motel is quite possibly the most horrendous room Bellamy has ever been in. Judging by Clarke’s reaction, she feels the same way. She is so shocked by the excess of dairy related décor that she stops dead in the doorway causing Bellamy to run into her, hands settling briefly on her waist for balance, before mimicking her horrified expression. 

“Say, do you think we are in Wisconsin?”

She snorts and moves further into the room. “And to think, you wanted to stay in the truck and miss all this.”

There are cows on the carpet; paintings of cows are on the shockingly bright orange walls, and the lamp’s base is a plastic wedge of cheese. Even the bedspread is dotted with cows, cheese, and barns. “I wonder what the majority of Wisconsinites would think about their state being represented in this way.” 

Clarke smiles at him before flopping backwards onto the bed. “Please let this room be the inspiration for your book.”

“Only if you agree to illustrate it,” he replies, kicking her feet where they dangle off the bed. 

She sits up and eyes him with a smirk. “Deal.” 

“Well, now that that’s settled, I’m going to take a shower.” 

Clarke nods and watches as he digs through his bag to find a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. They may be sharing a room, but at least he can change in the bathroom, sparing them further discomfort. As he steps into the lukewarm water Bellamy kicks himself for being so weird about this. Its not like this is his first time sharing a room with a girl he’s not sleeping with. He’s shared with Octavia plenty of times. Anya too, when her roommate sexiled her back in college and even Harper when she went to the beach with him and Octavia that one summer. 

But Clarke is different. She makes him nervous and calm at the same time and he doesn’t quite know what to make of that. 

By the time he emerges from the steamy bathroom Clarke is already in a pair of sleep shorts and an oversized UVa t-shirt watching some rerun of SVU. Bellamy does his best to ignore the long expanse of her creamy legs and halfheartedly dries his hair with a towel. “The water pressure is shit, but at least there aren’t cows in the bathroom.” 

“What a miracle.” 

“Indeed. Did this just start?” 

She shakes her head no. “It’s a marathon though, so a new one will be on in like fifteen minutes.” 

“Perfect.” He settles on the ground leaning against the bed after grabbing his phone off the dresser. While he’s texting Octavia a short message he feels Clarke nudge him with her foot. 

“You can sit on the bed you know. I promise it won’t get me pregnant.” 

He nearly chokes on his own saliva. The look on his face must be amusing because Clarke breaks into a smile. “I’m fine down here.” 

“You just took a shower and God only knows that has been on the carpet this room.” 

She has a point. The carpet is weirdly sticky and it’s not like he and Clarke haven’t been sitting next to each other for eleven days. He’s acting like an 7th grader and he hates himself for it. Resignedly he gets up and sits next to her one the bed. At first he’s stiff, still not sure of himself. But as the next episode starts and Olivia Benson starts putting together the pieces of the crime, Bellamy finds himself inching back until he is mimicking Clarke’s position and leaning back against the headboard. Sometime around the middle of their third episode her head falls on his shoulder and Bellamy can’t bring himself to say anything about it. 

 

***

He wakes up in the middle of the night. Clarke has her head and arm on his chest, the covers are still under them and the TV is still on playing an infomercial and filling the room with a blue glow. After gently detangling himself from Clarke, Bellamy stands and turns off the TV. He carefully pulls the blankets back and over Clarke who is now mumbling and turning away from him, still miraculously asleep. As he turns to figure out the most comfortable way to lie on the floor, a warm hand grasps his wrist and pulls him back towards the bed. 

Clarke is sitting up now, her free hand blearily rubbing her eyes. Bellamy can’t help but smile at how messy her hair is and the way her shirt is falling off her shoulder. “You can’t be seriously thinking about sleeping on the floor. We’ve been through this, Bell. It’s gross.” 

Something like lightning shoots through him. “Bell?” 

Even half asleep Clarke is able to give him an exasperated look. “Would you shut up and just get in fucking bed? I want to sleep.” 

He lets her tug him under the covers and lies stiffly on his back as she curls up beside him. If he wasn’t awake before, he certainly is now. Staring up at the ceiling, Bellamy counts Clarke’s breaths as they even out. When he is fairly sure she is asleep he sneaks a glance at her form. She looks younger asleep, he notes. She’s napped in the car before, but this is different. Her hair is in her face, mouth slightly open, her long lashes closed. It’s the most peaceful thing he’s ever seen. 

***

Clarke is clearly a cuddler because the next time Bellamy wakes up she is pressed up against his back, her thigh wedged between his legs, her arm wrapped over his torso, and her nose pressed up to the back of his neck. He can feel her even breaths against his skin and all he can’t think is that he is truly and utterly screwed. 

If it was hard to ignore his obvious crush on his travel mate before, it’s really impossible now. 

He can’t see the clock but the sun is streaming in through a crack in the curtains and after summoning all his willpower, Bellamy carefully pulls out of Clarke’s embrace and goes to check out the free breakfast advertised by the motel. 

Its not like he’s not running away from her, not at all. He’s just hungry and curious to see if the breakfast is composed entirely of dairy products. The local news on a beat up, old school TV is also very interesting. He’s not at all trying to postpone going back to the tiny room he’s sharing with Clarke. 

When Bellamy finally returns to the room half an hour later, Clarke is still in bed but clearly awake. She has an arm draped over her eyes and doesn’t bother to move it when he walks in. 

“Please tell me you have coffee.” Her voice is gravely with sleep and Bellamy ignores the way it makes his insides twist. 

“As you wish.” He sets the coffee on the table beside her, watching with a smirk as she practically leaps at it. As she rearranges herself in bed he grabs his notebook and hands her the plate of waffles he brought back. The blinding smile she gives him in return is well worth the effort. They sit on the bed in silence as Clarke inhales her coffee and waffles and Bellamy jots down some words in his journal. It’s quiet and easy and Bellamy has never been so grateful for an overbooked, dairy themed motel. 

***

He starts the car and she checks them out. By now they have fallen into an easy rhythm. Once Clarke joins him in the car, she whips out the latest map and picks which road to take. Whoever is in the passenger seat gets to decide when they stop, if they turn down some back street or dirt road, and whether or not seeing the world’s largest ball of string is really worth the effort. 

She tends to pick the weirdest stops, like that place with America’s largest nacho platter. He tends to pick the strangely specific museums, like the International Cryptozoology Museum back in Maine. Both of them like taking random back roads and joking about how they are probably going to end up being murdered by hillbillies. 

“Where to today?” 

Clarke hums beside him, the red marker they use to mark their progress stuck between her teeth. “Well, we are going to cross into Minnesota today.” 

“Thank God, if I see one more dairy farm I’m going to burn it down.” 

She smiles over at him. “I’m pretty sure there are dairy farms from here to California.” 

“Okay smarty pants.” Bellamy pushes her shoulder as he pulls back onto the highway. “Anything you want to do in Minnesota?” 

He tries to ignore how cute Clarke’s face looks all scrunched up in thought. It’s always painfully obvious when she is thinking hard about something and he doesn’t refrain from teasing her about it. 

“Isn’t the mall of America there?” She asks, more to herself than him. When she pulls out her phone to check Bellamy pretends not to notice the three missed calls. It’s a habit at this point. “Yes! We have to go!” The look on Clarke’s face is priceless. 

“Wow I didn’t realize I was traveling with a five year old. Shit, this is technically kidnapping isn’t it?” 

She rolls her eyes at him. “Shut up, old man. We are Americans. Its our patriotic duty to pay homage to capitalism at the Mall of America.” 

“The noble pilgrimage of the American citizen.” 

“Exactly.” Clarke leans her back against the passenger door, her feet in his lap. It’s a familiar position at this point. His protests about how its not safe and she is going to get both of them killed are also familiar. The way she ignores him and starts sketching is even more familiar. 

***

The Mall of America is fucking huge. Like, Bellamy knew it was big. Who doesn’t? But he still wasn’t prepared for the actual thing. Clarke thinks his shock is hilarious and comments on how it solidifies his nature as a disillusioned millennial. 

He ruffles her hair in response. 

She shoves him out of the car. 

***

They spend the night in a motel not far from the mall. 

Bellamy pretends he doesn’t miss her warmth. He’s known her for 12 days and has only spent one night with her. It’s stupid to miss her like this. The way she leans against him in the truck the next morning, long after it is a necessity for ordering breakfast at a McDonald’s drive-thru, tells him that maybe, just maybe, she missed him too. 

***

The Laura Ingalls Wilder Museum in Walnut Grove is an easy compromise. He’s always down for historical homes and museums and ‘Little House on the Prairie’ was a staple of Clarke’s childhood. The home is small and white, seemingly insignificant after seeing countless others like it on the drive from DC. As a historical home, it holds some interest for Bellamy, but what really makes the house special is the way it makes Clarke light up. 

“My mom use to read me the books every night before bed, at least on nights she didn’t have the late shift,” Clarke explains as they ascend the creaky front steps. “The books are one of the few things we agree on.” 

Bellamy smirks at her. “My little sister hated them. To be fair she hated books in general.” 

“Probably because she was afraid of becoming like you,” Clarke replies, bumping his shoulder. 

After the tour of the house and a low budget film on the author’s life, they get lunch at a small deli in town. Clarke amuses herself by snapchatting her friends and horrifying him with face swap while he eats the pickles she picked off her sandwich just to make her wrinkle her nose in disgust. 

“You know, the more time I spend with you the less I think you are disillusioned millennial and the more I’m convinced you are afflicted with some kind of Benjamin Button disease.” 

“How does liking pickles make me old?” 

“Only old men like pickles,” she states like it’s a well-known fact. 

Bellamy snorts. “I’m going to need to see the research to back up that claim, Miss Griffin.” 

Instead of replying she pokes his arm and steals some of his potato chips. 

***

In Moorhead, right on the border with North Dakota and the adjacent town of Fargo, Bellamy and Clarke stop for the night at a motel that shares a parking lot with a bar aptly named ‘On the Border.’ 

He waits in the car while she gets them a room, tapping out an absent rhythm on the steering wheel. A few minutes later, Clarke reemerges, her face looking a little drawn. 

“Everything good?” he asks, hopping out of the truck. 

“Yeah, I had to get us one room though.” 

Bellamy nods, assuming that was all the motel had left. 

“Never would have guessed a Moorhead, Minnesota Super 8 would be that full.” 

Clarke’s face goes a little red. “Yeah, well I guess a lot of people are passing this way. I thought about looking for another place but honestly its dirt cheap here and its not like we haven’t shared before.” 

Bellamy nods, not willing to push the issue because, frankly, he’s not that upset about it at all. They unload their stuff in the room before deciding to grab dinner at the bar across the lot. ‘On the Border’ is possibly the most Minnesota thing Bellamy has ever seen. The place practically looks like an IHOP it’s so clean and quaint. 

“This isn’t a bar,” he tells Clarke darkly. “This is like, the nursing home of bars.” 

“Perfect,” Clarke replies, pushing Bellamy farther in. “I’m sure you’ll feel right at home.” 

He rolls his eyes but slides into a stool next to her. 

Three hours later they’re both pretty tipsy. Bellamy grins wildly up at Clarke where she is standing on top of a table, belting out Tom Waits while the rest of the bar’s patrons sway to the angsty tune. Despite the mournful, heartbroken words Bellamy can’t help but feel ridiculously giddy at the way she always looks at him when she sings the name “Martha.”

The next song is decidedly more cheerful and before long the whole place is singing along. Suddenly, Clarke, who is leading the chorus from her tabletop stage, grabs Bellamy and pulls him up. Even in his drunken state, he’s not sure the table will hold them both but its not like he is about to deny the blonde anything. Together, they dramatically yell more than sing the lyrics until the bar owner kicks them out before they break the table and make the crowd anymore unruly. 

Clarke is laughing against him when they stumble out into the night. 

“I’ve never done that before, I’ve never sung in public, I can’t believe we just did that,” she giggles, making him pull her closer. 

“Clarke, we just got kicked out of the fucking nursing home bar.” Bellamy is incredibly proud of them.

“Where will you live, Bell’my?” she slurs, her big blue eyes looking up at him with mock concern. 

“I don’t know,” he replies, voice as serious as he can muster under the circumstances. “I suppose this motel will have to do, though I doubt they have bingo night.” 

Clarke barks out another laugh as she fiddles in her purse to find their room key. Following dutifully behind her, hand clasped tight in hers, Bellamy does his best not to stumble. When they stop outside a door he smiles down at her. 

“I suppose if you are really good and promise to never play Woody Guthrie in the car again I’ll organize a bingo night for you,” Clarke tells him.

Bellamy snatches the key from her hand and unlocks their door. “Deal, as long as you also make sure prunes are including in my breakfast.” 

“Naturally,” she replies, kicking off her shoes and collapsing on the room’s solitary bed that Bellamy can’t help but consider his best friend at the moment. “I’ll also make sure you have canned peas with dinner.” 

“My hero,” Bellamy sighs, flopping down next to her. They fall asleep, fully clothed and on top of the covers, in minutes. 

The next morning both are a little worse for the ware and agree a late start is necessary. As Bellamy gets in the shower, Clarke drags herself out of the room to go raid the motel’s continental breakfast. Later, when he leaves the bathroom, Bellamy nearly cries from laughter when he sees she managed to find a bag of prunes for him. 

***

When Clarke doesn’t respond to his admittedly terrible joke about the shithole town they are passing through, Bellamy turns to see what she is doing and his heart catches in his throat. 

She’s leaning against the window, head resting on her bunched up sweatshirt, eyes closed, lips parted in sleep. The little wisps of curls around her face that have fallen out of her pony tail are dancing in the breeze from the AC and there is a dusting of freckles across her nose that wasn’t there when he picked her up back in Virginia. 

It’s nothing special. All the same, Bellamy doesn’t think he’s seen anything more mesmerizing. 

A car honking jolts his eyes back to the road as he belatedly realizes he nearly ran a red light because he had been too distracted. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath because yeah, he’s in deep and he hasn’t even known her for a full month. 

***

They watch the sun set in the mountains of South Dakota sitting side by side in the covered bed of his truck, the back open to the breathtaking view. A few miles back they grabbed some burgers, fries, and frosties; the feast spread out between them as the dying light of the day illuminates the world in hues of orange. Clarke teaches Bellamy the wonders of fries dipped in frosties and he dutifully eats the pickles she discards from her cheeseburger. 

Its quiet and easy and the way the light makes Clarke’s hair look like its made of gold is more stunning than the view.

“Let’s play a game,’ he suggests, desperate to distract himself from the glow of her skin. 

Clarke raises a blonde eyebrow. “I swear to God, if you suggest I Spy again I’m throwing you off this cliff.” 

Early on in their trip Bellamy had learned the easiest way to frustrate Clarke was by playing I Spy. The woman was pathetically horrible at it; something he found hilarious and she found infuriating. 

“No, I don’t want to make you feel bad about your utter lack of spying skills.” 

Clarke flicks a fry at him. “Then what?” 

“Two truths and a lie?” He shrugs casually, but the truth is Bellamy is dying to know more about Clarke. Its not that he doesn’t trust her or that he is worried about her background, rather he just wants to know everything he possibly can about her. 

“I’m sorry, are we still in middle school?” 

“I spy with my little-”

“Ugh, fine. I hate you.” 

Bellamy smirks triumphantly and dips a fry in her frosty, his already finished. “You go first, Griffin.” 

She pauses for a moment to think and Bellamy gets the sudden urge to kiss the crease between her eyebrows. He nearly bites his tongue in surprise at the desire. 

“Okay, I’m ready,” Clarke finally says, turning her gaze away from the vista and towards him. “One, I’m bisexual. Two, I wanted to be a farmer when I was a kid. Three, I’ve been to every continent.” 

Bellamy stares at her for a long moment, thinking. “Two is the lie. I’ve seen the way you looked at those farms back in Ohio.” 

The pout she gives him is his only indication he is right, her disappointment at her inability to fool him making Bellamy laugh. “One, I quit my job, or jobs rather, before leaving. Two, I have eight tattoos. Three, I’m surprisingly good at math.” 

Clarke watches him, her blue eyes scanning his face. Something about it makes Bellamy’s chest a little tight. “Three.” 

“Nope,” he laughs as she huffs indignantly. 

“Fine, what is it then? I know you have tattoos; I’ve seen some of them. And I can’t think of many jobs that would accept ‘I’m driving around the country for an extended period of time and I don’t know when I’ll be back’ as leave. How is three not a lie?” 

“I have seven tattoos.” 

The looks she gives him would be funny if it wasn’t so downright terrifying. 

By the time he pulls out of the look out and back onto the highway in search of a motel, they both know a bit more about each other. 

Clarke knows he use to smoke, is convinced John Steinbeck is the greatest author of all time, and that he named his sister after Augustus’s sister. He’s fascinated by both the Great Depression and Imperial Rome and swears by Bob Dylan. 

Bellamy discovers Clarke is allergic to strawberries, lost her appendix when she was thirteen, didn’t go to her senior prom, and thinks that Elvis is secretly still alive. She also has kissed more girls than boys, is terrified of hamsters, and thinks modern poetry is highly underrated. 

*** 

It’s 9:30 at night when he hears the soft, almost hesitate knock at his door. Confused, Bellamy waits a moment before getting up to answer it. Clarke has her back to him, like she is about to go back down the hall to her room. At the sound of door opening, she whips around and smiles at him a little shyly. She’s back in the PJs he remembers from Wisconsin, it makes him smile. 

“What’s up?” 

“I come bearing gifts.” She holds up a couple of bottles of vodka from the mini bar. 

“You realize I have those in my room too?” 

“Shut up,” Clarke murmurs as she pushes past him into his room. 

“By all means, come in.” 

Ignoring him, Clarke flops down on his bed and looks at the TV like it’s from another planet. “Are you seriously watching a documentary?” 

“Its on the Aztecs.” He rubs the back of his neck in slight embarrassment. 

Clarke just smirks up at him. “Well, if it’s on the Aztecs…” 

With an overdramatic sigh Bellamy shoves her over and sits down. 

Its 2:00 am when she finally goes back to her room. They’ve finished four mini bottles, two historical documentaries, and several reruns of Real Housewives. If Clarke hesitates a moment before leaving, Bellamy tells himself its just his imagination. 

***

They are halfway through Nebraska and Bellamy is driving again. Johnny Cash is serenading them and rain is pelting against the windshield as the wipers furiously battle the water droplets. Clarke taps her toes along to the tune, occasionally singing when the chorus hits. 

She’s sketching again and as always he is dying to know what is making her pencil move so enthusiastically across the paper. 

“What are you drawing?” 

When she looks up at him her expression is dazed. “What?” 

“I asked what you’re drawing; its like you are about to burn a hole through the paper with how fast that pencil’s moving.” 

“Oh, its nothing.” 

Bellamy arches an eyebrow in disbelief but Clarke just turns the music up and goes back to her work. 

*** 

At a Mexican joint in Colorado Clarke happens to overhear some kid talking about a Dinosaur park in Colorado Springs and doesn’t let it drop until they pull into the parking lot the next day. 

“How old are you again?” Bellamy asks as Clarke practically leaps out of the truck. 

“You are never too old to get excited about dinosaurs, Bellamy,” she replies tartly before adding, “Besides, I thought you liked history, Mr. ‘its on the Aztecs.’” 

“I do, but dinosaurs aren’t the same and this is an animatronic dinosaur park, not some kind of actual museum or dig sight.” 

Clarke bumps his shoulder when he falls into pace with her. “The fact this is an animatronic dinosaur park and not a museum is why people get excited about it, nerd.”

“Ah yes.” He smirks at her and points to a gaggle of five year old eagerly waiting in line at the park’s entrance. “You and your friends are quite excited.”

“I’d rather be a five year old than an eighty year old like you, old man.” 

Bellamy rolls his eyes again but insists on paying for her ticket anyways. 

Turns out, animatronic dinosaur parks are pretty fun, though he would never admit that to Clarke. Instead, he points out all the inaccuracies he can find because it makes her poke him and takes terrible photos of his companion as she poses with the dinosaurs. When a couple of shithead teenagers cut in the line for the T-Rex, he has to hold Clarke back while she mutters curses under her breath, both at him and the teens. Later, when they are both sitting next to the fake-dig-site/giant-sandbox-with-foam-bones eating ice creams he asks her why a former almost doctor turned artist is so into dinosaurs. 

“Every Saturday when I was a kid my dad use to take me and my friend Wells to the Smithsonian. Wells’s favorite part was the dinosaur hall in the natural history museum, so naturally it became my favorite too.”

For some reason Clarke looks a little too sad, making Bellamy feel guilty for purposefully being a dick about the park. He nudges her shoulder. “As much as I hate to admit it, this place is pretty cool.” 

The smile she shines at him is worth his wounded pride. 

*** 

Clarke spots the cabins first. They are halfway up some mountain in the Rockies and there is a rickety old sign advertising log cabins in the backwoods. It’s her indignant huff that draws Bellamy’s attention from where he is writing in the passenger’s seat. 

“What?” 

“That sign ahead, for the cabins. Who the hell would want to stay in some creepy backwoods cabin? That’s just asking to be murdered. Or mauled by a bear.” 

He is silent for a moment. “Turn in.”

They pass the sign and Clarke looks at him like he’s grown a third eye. 

“Are you kidding? No.” 

“What? Are you seriously afraid to spend the night in a cabin? Come on its already 6:30, we might as well stop there for the night.” 

“Bellamy I promise you we can find a motel further up. I’m not spending the night in some creepy ass cabin. Besides, we’ve already passed them.” 

“You disappoint me. Where is your sense of adventure?” 

She scoffs at him. “I think demanding to go on an aimless road trip with a perfect stranger is pretty adventurous.” 

“How sweet, you think I’m perfect.” 

Her face is priceless. “That is not what I meant and you know it, don’t twist my words.” 

“Come on, Clarke. Turn around. We’ll be fine I promise. These are the Rocky Mountains, we have to stay in a log cabin.” 

“I don’t want to end up like the Donner Party.” 

“That’s a tad overdramatic.” 

“Rich, coming from you. I said no and I have control of the car.” 

Bellamy huffs and drops back against his seat. He watches as a lumber truck barrels past them on the road, dangerously close to the sheer cliff on the far edge. The old county song on the radio ends and the host starts talking about some upcoming blues festival in Denver. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees Clarke slump back. 

“Fine,” she says in a defeated tone. “I’ll turn around. But I am not staying by myself. If we are doing this we are sharing a cabin. I don’t fuck with bears and mountain people.” 

“You drive a hard bargain, Griffin.”

She glares over at him. “I’m trying to compromise here.” 

“Deal,” he replies with a smile. “I knew I’d win you over.” 

She mumbles something about him being an insolent asshole but turns around at the next overlook. 

***

The cabin they are assigned at the main office is nowhere near the others, has certainly seen better days, and looks like something right out of a horror movie. 

Naturally, Bellamy loves it. 

Clarke remarks that if a bear, a deranged mountain dweller, or Bigfoot doesn’t kill him, she will. 

***

While Clarke drives back to the main office to buy marshmallows, hot dogs, and beer from the general store, Bellamy gathers firewood. The sun is starting to set as he sits on the porch steps admiring the wilderness. He could live in the woods, he thinks, away from everyone and everything. 

When Clarke returns he tells her as much. 

“Bullshit. You call your sister every night and devised this whole trip to go see her. Plus what would you do without your precious NPR and Bugles. Besides, I would never come visit you and that would be devastating.”

He doesn’t comment on how compelling that last point is. 

They build up a fire in the pit and sit close together. Clarke insists its because she’s cold, but underneath all her jokes he knows the woods really do creep her out. It makes Bellamy feel a bit guilty for getting her to stay here, so he figures the least he can do is let her press up next to him and keep his mouth shut about how the fire should be enough to keep her plenty warm on a summer night. 

Unsurprisingly, they argue about the best way to roast the hot dogs. The argument repeats itself when its time for s'mores. 

One thing Bellamy and Clarke don’t disagree on, however, is how to drink beer. By the time the fire is starting to die down and the sun has long disappeared beyond the tree line, they are both pretty wasted. Clarke is leaning into Bellamy even more now, giggling as he regales her with stories of his childhood with Octavia. She calls him a nerd more than a couple times, but the word is becoming more and more like a compliment so he can’t really complain. 

“What about you?” 

She turns to look up at him, her big blue eyes suddenly very close to his face. Bellamy can’t help glancing down at the nearness of her full lips. “What?” A hiccup divides her one word question. 

“Are you a daddy’s girl or a mamma’s girl?” 

“Daddy’s girl. Hands down. No question.” 

Bellamy laughs. “That sure?” 

She nods against his shoulder, her hand coming up to wrap around his arm as she stares intently at their dying fire. “Oh, yeah. I always got along so much better with my dad. My mom is so uptight. She’s chief of surgery at George Washington and has all these connections on the Hill.” Clarke hiccups again causing Bellamy to smile as he pokes at the embers with a stick. “My dad was a partner in this engineering firm, but he always made sure he was home in the evening since my mom was gone so often. I guess that’s why we got close. He was there and she wasn’t. He always did these fun things with me too. We would go to Eastern Market every Saturday morning before the Smithsonian and whenever some little gallery had a show he would take me because he knew how much I loved art. He was my best friend.” 

“Was?” Bellamy asks with a frown. 

Clarke sighs and holds his arm a little tighter. “He died three months ago. Heart attack right out of the blue. Nobody saw it coming.” 

Heart sinking, Bellamy looks down at the top of her head. Maybe it’s the alcohol in his system, but he can’t stop himself from pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of her head. “I’m so sorry, Clarke. I had no idea.” 

He feels rather than sees Clarke wipe tears from her eyes. “Thanks. He’s the real reason I wanted to come with you. He always talked about wanting to drive across the country and it’s his money that I just got so it seemed like a sign almost. Does that sound stupid?” 

Bellamy shakes his head. “Not at all. My mom died in a car accident when I was twenty. After that I looked for signs everywhere. I got custody of Octavia since neither of our dads had ever really been in the picture; she was just thirteen and I couldn’t decide if I should drop out of school or not. I went to the dean’s office resigned to dropping out when a bird flew across my right shoulder. My mom always said that was a good sign. So instead of dropping out I explained the situation to the dean and she helped me find a way to both be able to be there for Octavia, work, and graduate just one year later than planned.”

“You never told me you raised her.” Clarke is looking up at him now, tears shining in her eyes. 

Bellamy shrugs causing her nose to bump against his jaw. “It didn’t seem important to mention.” 

“That’s really impressive, Bell. Going to college, working, and raising a thirteen year old.” 

He feels himself blushing but can’t tell if it’s from the compliment or the nickname. They settle into a heavy silence. It’s probably the alcohol talking, but Bellamy can’t help but wonder if his mom somehow led him to Clarke too. She had been the one to buy him both ‘The Odyssey’ and ‘Travels with Charley,’ which were the two books that led to this endeavor. And this endeavor led to Clarke. 

“You would have liked him,” Clarke utters quietly, pulling Bellamy out of his thoughts. “He would have liked you.” 

“I’m sorry I’ll never meet him. Truly. He must have been one hell of a man if you are any indication.” 

Suddenly Bellamy feels Clarke’s warm lips on his cheek and it’s like the whole world stops for a second. He probably would have stayed on his log, frozen in surprise, if not for Clarke standing and pulling him up by the hand. He dumps a bucket of water on the fire without breaking the embrace of their hands before letting her lead him inside the ramshackle log cabin. 

They get ready for bed, taking turns brushing teeth and changing, before coming to stand side by side in the middle of the one room cabin staring at the two twin beds before them. Bellamy is pretty disappointed in the separation and is a little tempted to push them together. Despite the beer clouding his judgment, he stays quiet. 

“I’ll take the left?” Clarke sounds unsure of herself beside him and for a moment he entertains the idea that she is a little disappointed in the arrangement as well. 

“Fair enough.” 

Neither of them moves. Finally Clarke turns towards him and Bellamy instinctively mirrors her. Without much warning she pushes up on her tiptoes and wraps her arms around him. It doesn’t take long for Bellamy to reciprocate, reveling in the way her body melts into his and how his arms easily span her torso. With her face buried in the spot where he neck meets his shoulder, Bellamy feels more than hears Clarke when she murmurs, “I’m glad I came with you.” 

“Me too,” he whispers into her hair. 

When they finally pull away his gaze drops momentarily to her lips. It would be easy, too easy, to lean in and just close the distance between them. 

“Goodnight, Bellamy.” 

He tears his gaze away from her mouth and back up to her soft eyes. “’Night, Clarke.” 

They go their separate ways, climb into separate beds, and pretend to fall asleep. 

*** 

They don’t talk much about the night before in the morning. When Clarke refuses to get out of bed and complains about a headache, Bellamy dutifully brings her a glass of water and an aspirin. 

He offers to drive first since he is the least hungover and they quickly fall back into their usual squabbles and habits. 

Despite the familiarity, Bellamy somehow feels a change. There is an understanding between them that didn’t exist before, the kind that can only be formed by mutual loss.

It has nothing to do with how hard it is to forget the warmth of Clarke lips against his cheek or the way her body fit snugly into his when they embraced. Nothing at all. 

***

In Utah Clarke decides their next stop should be Bryce Canyon and Bellamy has no objections. When they finally pull into a trail head he moves to get out of the truck before noticing that his blonde companion has gone silent. She’s still gripping the wheel and her knuckles are white from the strain. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

Clarke starts and turns to him, her eyes a little watery. “Oh, yeah. It’s fine. Let’s go.” 

“Clarke,” his voice is soft as he shuts his door and scoots back over towards her. “What’s going on?” 

Bellamy watches as she locks her jaw, staring harshly out at the wilderness before them for a moment. With a sigh she leans into him, turning to rest her head on his shoulder. “My dad always wanted to come here. It was on his bucket list. We use to talk about coming out here together.” 

Reaching up, Bellamy curls one arm around Clarke’s shoulders and drops his cheek to rest upon her hair. He doesn’t say anything, there isn’t really much he can say and he is fairly sure that Clarke doesn’t want to talk. Just having him understand is enough. They stay locked together for a few minutes while Clarke gathers herself; breathing each other in and watching the clouds make their way across the pale sky. 

Its Clarke who breaks the silence, pushing up and declaring that they are wasting time. Ignoring her half-hearted protests, Bellamy pulls her back to him for a quick embraces, dropping a soft kiss on the crown of her head before he can stop himself. He can see her small smile when he pulls away, but pretends to be oblivious as he grabs his hat and gets out of the car. 

Clarke meets him on the passenger side, glancing down at her father’s clunky watch. “Its already 3:30, we’ll have to make this short if we want to find a place to stay before too late.” 

“Or,” Bellamy starts as he moves past her towards the bed of the truck, “we could spend the night here.” 

“You have camping gear?” 

“I told you, Clarke. I didn’t plan on hotels.” 

“Oh right, I forgot you wanted to live the life of a hobo.” 

“Shit.” 

She comes around to gaze into the truck beside Bellamy, trying to determine what caused the expletive to slip through his lips. “What is it?” 

“The tent is big enough for two people, but I only have on sleeping bag.” 

“Oh.” 

“There was that surplus store thirty minutes back, I’m sure they would have one we can grab and then come back.”

Clarke checks her watch again. “By the time we get back here it will be close to 5:00. We won’t get very far before its dark.” 

“So you want to just do a shorter hike and head out early?” 

She pauses, eyes darting between the camping gear and him. “No, not really.” Bellamy runs a hand through his hair in frustration and is just about to ask her what exactly it is she suggests they do when she answers the question. “How big is your sleeping bag?” 

He gawks at her for a moment before reaching in to grab it. She can’t be serious, he thinks. “Its fairly standard,” Bellamy replies, voice a little tight, as he rolls it out for her to see. Clarke runs her eyes over the sleeping bag, then his broad shoulders and long legs. 

“I think we’ll manage, if you don’t mind. I mean we can always just unzip it and spread it out as a blanket, right? You said the tent is big enough for two people. There, problem solved. We save time and money.” 

It’s one thing to share a bed with her, but another to share a tiny tent and an even tinier sleeping bag and Bellamy thinks he just may be losing his mind. Maybe she is going to kill him after all, just not at all in the way he expected. 

“Yeah, I suppose.” 

“Are you okay with that? If it makes you uncomfortable we can go back and-”

“No, no,” he says, quickly. “Its fine. It will be a tight squeeze but we’ll manage.” 

Clarke nods, her face serious as if she just finalized battle plans with him. Bellamy, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically nervous and he’s a little angry she can be so calm about the situation. But then again, she’s the one who suggested it so he shouldn’t really be all that surprised she isn’t at all flustered. Yeah, he can freely admit, at least to himself, that he is into her but that doesn’t mean Clarke is into him. Maybe for her this really is just about saving money and time. 

They take their time on hike, stopping to admire the view. Occasionally, Clarke sits and pulls out her sketchbook, trying to capture the vistas they pass while Bellamy watches her carefully, trying to etch the way her pale shoulders glow in the sun and the way she bites her lip in concentration into his memory. As the light begins to die in the west, they start searching for a place to set up camp and settle on fairly flat hilltop a ways off the trail. It’s perched on the edge of the canyon, but far enough away that they don’t have to worry about falling. Bellamy sends Clarke off to find sticks and brush for the fire while he sets up their tent. Their dinner consists of some old granola bars and a bag of Doritos but it tastes like a four-course meal sitting shoulder-to-shoulder watching the last of the sun’s rays dip below the horizon. 

They swap stories while hunched over their small fire, tossing in leaves and sticks to watch the sparks dance up and join the stars. Clarke talks about how she and her friend Raven, who has been calling her every other day over the course of their trip, met in college and Bellamy can’t help but hate this kid Finn. When he voices this opinion she laughs and tells him to join the club. 

Somehow they end up sprawled in the dirt, pressed close together to stay warm in the chilly, desert night as Bellamy points out constellations above. The fire has died and the only sound other than his voice and her occasional questions is the crickets and some lonesome coyote out in the canyon. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many stars,” Clarke whispers next to Bellamy. 

“It’s pretty amazing, huh?” 

She hums in agreement and he feels her gaze heavy on his face. Turning, he smiles down at her. “I have a surprise for you.” 

Clarke raises an eyebrow. 

Pushing himself up, Bellamy scoots over to his backpack resolutely ignoring how much he misses her warmth. After a moment of shuffling around the backpack, he dramatically whips a box of Twinkies out and laughs at the small, excited gasp that Clarke releases. 

“How long have you been hiding these?” she asks, grabbing it from his hands and tearing the box apart. 

“A few gas stations back but totally forgot about them until I grabbed the camping gear this afternoon.” 

“You are the best.”

He laughs and sits back down besides her, smirking when Clarke drops crumbs all over herself. They settle back down into watching the stars, passing the box back and forth as Bellamy rambles on about the various myths that gave the stars their names. 

By the time he is tugging Clarke into their tent the Twinkies are gone and the fire is a long distant memory. Neither of them had bothered to unzip the sleeping bag into a blanket back when they set up camp, and neither is really in the mood to do anything requiring so much effort now. Instead, Clarke tugs off her sneakers before squeezing herself into the bag next to him. It’s a tight fit and Clarke ends up practically on top of Bellamy, her head nuzzled into his neck, their legs tangling together. They’re both exhausted and it’s pretty chilly so the excuses are easy to come up with, but neither Clarke nor Bellamy make the effort to do so. 

“I have a secret,” Clarke whispers, her breath hot on his skin. It makes something in him ache a little. 

“Yeah?” 

“I lied back in South Dakota.”

“About what?” 

Clarke nuzzles her head a little closer to him. When she speaks again it causes her lips to rub against his skin and Bellamy’s heart skips a beat. Her words don’t help matters at all. “There were plenty of rooms available. I just wanted to share with you again.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

A beat passes between them. An owl hoots somewhere off in the distance. 

“I’m glad you lied.” 

“Me too. I like having someone to sleep with.” 

They both blush at the double meaning of her words. 

“I’m glad we didn’t get another sleeping bag,” Bellamy finally whispers after a long moment of silence, sharing a secret of his own in return for her honesty. 

“Me too.” 

He shifts his head to press a gentle kiss to Clarke’s forehead and smiles when he feels her do the same at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. 

“’Night, Clarke.”

“’Night, Bell.”

Bellamy falls asleep to the sounds of the desert around them and the steady rhythm of Clarke’s breath against his skin. 

*** 

He brews cheap, instant coffee over a freshly revived campfire in the morning while Clarke lazily watches him from the warmth of their tent. They had woken up tangled in each other, a little too hot and both suffering from terrible morning breath. But the way she smiled up at him with sleepy eyes, a little embarrassed and a little proud, made up for any sour breath. 

They drink the coffee in comfortable silence watching the world around them wake up in shades of pink and orange. As the sun rises higher in the sky Clarke takes a while to sketch the scene before them while he writes and watches the shadows move across the canyon. 

By the time they are packed up and heading back to the truck, Bellamy is fairly certain its one of his best mornings to date. 

*** 

Some country heroine is wailing on the radio when Clarke startles Bellamy by pressing a finger to the scar above his lip. When did she get that close to him? 

“Um, Clarke?” 

“How did you get that?” 

Bellamy glances over at her inquisitive face and feels his cheeks heat up from her proximity. He hates how she can do this to him by just sitting close. “A fight when I was twelve.” 

Clarke barks out a laugh. “You? Bellamy Blake in a fight? What was it over, some historical discrepancy?” 

“Why are you so convinced I was a nerd?” 

“Because you still are.” 

“Do you want to hear the story or not?” 

“Okay, fine. So you got in a fight, why?” 

“This kid, Murphy. We ended up friends in high school but in middle school we hated each other. Both of us were little shits who wanted an excuse to be tough so when he called my sister crazy I just went for it. My mom nearly skinned me alive when I came home with a bloody face.” 

“What a badass.” 

He rolls his eyes at her sarcastic tone. “Clarke, don’t be jealous of how counter culture I am.” At this she actually snorts and the way she cups her mouth and nose in shock makes Bellamy lose it. “Whose the nerd now?”

*** 

The sun is just starting to drop down to the horizon when an old Taylor Swift song starts playing on the radio. Without thinking Bellamy sings along quietly. It’s another song that carries memories of Octavia. 

“Oh my God.”

He realizes his mistake when he looks over and sees Clarke’s huge, shit eating smile. Bellamy just rolls his eyes and sings louder, smiling when Clarke joins in with a painfully forced country accent.

***

He pulls into the parking lot of a motel on the outskirts of some small town. Before the truck is even fully stopped, Clarke moves to hop out and get them rooms for the night. Quickly, Bellamy reaches out and wraps a hand around her wrist to stop her. Clarke looks down at his hand and then up to his face, her brow drawn in a silent question. 

Bellamy lets go and nervously runs the same hand through his messy hair. “If you want… I was just thinking… If its cool with you, I don’t mind if you just get one room.” He refused to look at her, instead focusing on clock on the dashboard. 

“I mean, it would be cheaper right?” 

When he looks up Clarke is trying to suppress a smile and suddenly he finds it a little hard to breathe. 

“Right. Its not like two adults can’t share a room.” 

“We’ve done it before.”

“Right.”

“Right.” 

They stare at each other for a moment and the air feels too heavy to Bellamy. A car honks on the highway behind them and pulls them out of the moment. Clarke murmurs something about getting their room and Bellamy responds that he’ll grab their things while decisively ignoring the implications of two adults sharing a room. 

***

After ordering a pizza Bellamy and Clarke happily settle down to the Star Wars marathon on TV, bonding over the fact they both are a little sad they missed the prequels. Clarke tells him about how she and Wells use to recreate scenes in their backyards growing up. Bellamy tells her about that one Christmas he sat Octavia down and forced her to watch them after years of her refusing. He laughs at her when she quotes Palpatine verbatim and she mocks him when he hums along to the music. They both agree that Leia is pretty much the greatest thing about the entire franchise and only stop talking theories when Episode VI ends and Clarke gets up to take a shower. 

“If only my sister could see us now, I think she would die of embarrassment.” 

Clarke chuckles as she digs through her bags. “Oh please this is not the nerdiest thing you have done. Case and point ‘It’s on the Aztecs!’” Her voice gets deep and husky when she mocks him and something in Bellamy’s stomach tightens at the sound. 

“At least I don’t know Palpatine’s lines by heart.” 

“Hey, I am not in the least bit ashamed by that.” 

Bellamy just shakes his head with a smile and grabs another slice of the now cold pizza. He watches Clarke disappear into the bathroom out of the corner of his eye and tries his best to focus on the rerun of Jeopardy that just started when he hears the shower turn on. When the bathroom door suddenly opens and a very wet, very naked Clarke emerges covered only in the incredibly small motel towel Bellamy nearly chokes. 

“Forgot my razor,” she says sheepishly. 

Bellamy can’t even form a coherent response and just watches, dumbly, as she darts back into the bathroom. Forcing his eyes back to the TV he tries his hardest to forget the paths that water droplets took down her shoulder and into her cleavage. He tries to forget her cleavage too, and the long lines of her legs. 

God, he thinks to himself, he is so fucked. 

Before long Clarke emerges from the bathroom again, this time fully clothed in a tank top and sleep shorts, her wet hair braided down her back and a slight blush stinging her cheeks when Bellamy looks over at her. By now he’s managed to compose himself, but the image of her in a tiny towel is irrevocably seared into his memory. They swap spots, Clarke sitting on the edge of the bed, wiping a make up wipe over her face, while Bellamy combs through his bag for his stuff. 

When they finally crawl into bed half an hour later, Clarke pulls Bellamy close and snuggles into his chest unashamedly. After a moment he relaxes against her and smiles into the smell of the motel’s cheap shampoo in her hair, the knowledge his hair smells the same making him feel a little loopy. Her legs are smooth where they rest against his, thanks to the misplaced razor, and her stomach is soft where her tank top has ridden up against his arm. Clarke breathes out a lazy “Sweet dreams,” and Bellamy hums in response. 

***

When Bellamy wakes up his cheek is against something soft and warm and it takes him a few seconds to get his bearings. Looing down, embarrassment courses through his body as he realizes he is using Clarke’s chest as a pillow, his jaw resting against her boobs and his arm tight around her waist. He’s sprawled out diagonally on the bed, one of her arms is wrapped around his larger one holding her and the other is curled around his shoulders. It’s extremely comfortable, but it’s also extremely inappropriate and Bellamy is sure that if Clarke wakes up with him like this things could get awkward. 

He moves to get up but Clarke’s arms suddenly tighten and with a sinking feeling Bellamy looks up to see her tired blue eyes gazing down at him, cloudy with sleep. “Don’t move,” she murmurs, the husky voice she used the night before to imitate him now natural in her sleepy state. “Your stubble tickles.” 

Bellamy is a little dumbfounded. Here he is with his face basically buried in her cleavage and all she has to say about it is that his stubble tickles. Somehow the words embolden him. This time he moves with more purpose, dragging his chin up past her collarbone and into her shoulder. The giggles that escape her lips make his stomach flip. He can’t help but smile wide. 

“Stop, stop!” she shouts, gasping for air between laughs and wiggling underneath him as he continues to rub his chin along the soft skin of his shoulder. 

“Oh what? Is this bothering you, Clarke?” 

“You ass,” she giggles, breathless, before shoving him over and settling on top of him to make him stop. “You are a dick, you know that?” 

He pouts dramatically, hands finding her hips naturally and tries not to think too hard about her position or its implications because he’s too happy to let himself shut down now. Clarke makes a face at him and Bellamy impulsively reaches under her tank top to tickle the soft skin on the sides of her waist. Shrieking, Clarke squirms and leans down to try to get away. As a result her face is about an inch above his, her hands on the mattress on either side of his head, and suddenly everything is a little too real. Bellamy watches, fascinated, as her brilliant blue eyes dart down to his mouth. He holds his breath as she lowers herself, almost imperceptibly slow, his hands stilling and slipping up to the small of her back as her golden hair falls in ringlets around his face. 

Suddenly Bellamy’s phone blares out Octavia’s ringtone and he and Clarke jump apart. He answers, voice gruff, and watches Clarke get out of bed and make her way to the bathroom. With a sigh, Bellamy drops back into the mattress and answers his little sister’s questions about the trip, trying to push what almost just happened from his mind. 

When the phone call ends and Clarke comes out of the bathroom dressed and ready to go, neither one of them mentions the almost kiss. They still don’t mention it while she checks them out or when they pull into a shitty diner for breakfast and when they fall into their usual rhythms in the car there is a silent agreement that it won’t be discussed. That doesn’t stop Bellamy from thinking about it though. The pressure of her body on his, the soft warmth of her breath against his lips, the heated look in her eyes just inches away from his. 

Bellamy locks his jaw and turns up the radio a little louder. 

*** 

When they cross into Nevada the only thing either of them really cares about is Area 51, Vegas be damned. Once they pass the sign welcoming them onto the Extraterrestrial Highway, Clarke won’t stop humming the X-Files theme and Bellamy points to every plane they see asking her if she thinks it’s a UFO. They think it’s absolutely hilarious. As soon as Clarke finally enters Rachel, Nevada, she pulls into a motel even though its only 1:00 because obviously they will be stopping here for the day. Maybe even two. 

“To be honest, I think this might rival the moo motel,” Clarke says earnestly, like she is comparing priceless pieces of art. They both settled on the most gaudy, obnoxiously alien themed place they can find and so far it has not disappointed. 

Bellamy runs a hand over the wallpaper, which is covered in various aliens, flying saucers, and stars. “Do you think this glows in the dark because it looks like it glows in the dark?” 

“Oh my God, no fucking way.” Clarke practically sprints over to the neon green curtains and closes them. Sure enough, the walls glow. She starts humming the X-Files themes again. 

Chuckling Bellamy holds out a hand. “Come on, Mulder. Let’s go find something to do.” 

She takes his hand, grinning in the darkness, “I just want to believe, Bellamy.” 

“Weirdo.” 

They spend the day in every touristy store they can find, taking stupid pictures of each other and giggling like little kids. Bellamy even manages to drag Clarke into a museum which turns out to be more factual than alien based, but Clarke doesn’t complain too much after he promises to buy her astronaut ice cream in the gift store. By the time the sun is setting they end up at some bar called The Drop Ship which, from the outside, looked as obnoxiously space themed as their motel but turns out to be more of a mix between a biker joint and a honkytonk. 

Bellamy and Clarke sit at the bar and have some drinks and burgers while watching the strange array of people coming and going. They talk about heading towards Vegas the next day and Clarke dares Bellamy to ask their bartender if she has ever seen an alien. Echo doesn’t seem very amused by the question, which she no doubt receives from every tourist passing through, but Clarke nearly falls off her seat from the combination of alcohol and laughter. 

Just as they are about to head out, a ton of people file into the bar and true honkytonk music starts playing as all the bar goers start to line dance, with the notable exclusion of the biker gang hunched in the corner wearing matching leather vest embroidered with the moniker “Grounders.” 

“I thought they only did this in Texas,” Bellamy states, watching the dancers with a puzzled expression. 

“This is truly the land of mystery,” Clarke says dramatically before tugging on his arm. “Come on, let’s dance.” 

“I am not line dancing, Clarke.” 

She ignores him and continues to pull on his arm while, for what seems like the thousandth time, humming the X-Files theme. With a sigh Bellamy lets her drag him onto the floor and for an hour they stumble around each other trying to figure out the moves, before the music turns slower and people begin to pair up or go back to their tables or their seats at the bar. 

Clarke opts for the first choice and tugs Bellamy towards her, resting her head on his chest as his hands find her waist. Some sappy old country love ballad is playing and as weird as this all is, Bellamy smiles contentedly into her hair. When the song ends they stumble out, still holding each other by the waist. Clarke makes Bellamy stop and wait while she rips an advertisement for some alien tour off the public posting. She look up at him, eyes wide in excitement and question. 

“Well, obviously we are going to do that,” he replies, causing her to beam and smack a wet, sloppy kiss on his cheek. 

“I’m glad we are on the same page, Scully.” 

Bellamy rolls his eyes and guides her back across the street to their motel. 

***

Their tour starts at 9:00 the next morning and Bellamy is honestly astounded at how chipper Clarke is when they wake up at 8:00. 

“And to think, all this time you’ve been calling me the nerd. Who would have guessed you are so into aliens.” 

“Raven and I are obsessed with the X-Files. It was practically a religion senior year.” 

“Is that who you’ve been snap chatting non stop?” 

“Duh,” she replies while pulling him out the door. 

A very unenthusiastic middle-aged woman leads the tour, which is really more of a hike through the desert looking at random hills where aliens supposedly were seen once. Other than Clarke and Bellamy, there is an old couple from Kansas who seem to actually believe in aliens, a kid who clearly dragged his mother along, and a local teenager who corrects every story their tour guide tells and occasionally talks about his own experiences with aliens. 

“Please can you do me favor, Bellamy?” Clarke whispers as they move towards yet another clump of sand. 

He looks down at her suspiciously. “What?”

“Please, please, please write your book about these people.” 

Bellamy laughs. “Too late, I’m already writing it about the moo motel and anxiously awaiting your illustrations.” 

“Damn.” 

“Yeah, you made your request too soon back in Wisconsin. You should have waited. Patience is a virtue.” 

The local kid clears his throat and looks at Bellamy and Clarke like they have just murdered his first-born. The pair exchanges a glance and break out in grins, bumping shoulders in solidarity. They see no aliens on the tour, but Clarke says its okay and goes to bottle some sand for Raven while Bellamy shakes his head in amusement.

*** 

They decide to stay another night and spend the rest of the day laying in the sweet air conditioning in their motel room. There is a marathon of some 48 Hours murder show and they both sprawl out on the bed, half on top of each other, watching it lazily. They doze off in and out, occasionally making jokes about their earlier tour. At some point Clarke leaves, taking the keys to his truck, and returns with barbecue sandwiches and milkshakes and Bellamy tells her he loves her, only half joking. 

Its when they are in the midst of a food coma that Clarke looks down at Bellamy who is laying with his head in her lap, and simply says, “I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do when we finish this trip.”

He gazes up at her, concern filling his mind at the sad, defeated note of her voice. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” Clarke runs her fingers through his hair and Bellamy feels sparks go down his spine. “I can’t go to med school. Not that I even want to. I don’t really want to do anything with biology either. I don’t want to go back to that diner. I hated that job. My mom is pissed at me, she basically told me that if I didn’t turn around back in Massachusetts she was going to cut me off and I mean, I don’t need her money or anything, the whole reason I was working in that shithole was because I didn’t want to be dependent on her, but I don’t want to have to go back and deal with her. We don’t get along great anymore but I still want her in my life, just not like… in my life, you know?” 

“You could travel. You have the money, right? Take a couple months off from life and just travel.”

“Yeah,” Clarke sighs and drops her head back against the wall. “Maybe.” 

“To be honest I have no fucking idea what I’m going to do either, if that makes you feel any better. This whole trip is really just a last ditch effort to figure out what to do with my life. I quit my job as an editor at a local publisher before I left. I have no money. I have no idea what I want to do.”

“You’ll write your book.” 

“Yeah,” he huffs incredulously. “We’ll see.” 

Clarke is still running her fingers through his hair almost absentmindedly. It feels nice, comforting even. He wishes he could just stay in this moment forever and not have to deal with the future. As if reading his mind, Clarke quietly responds, “I wish we could just keep driving forever.” She leans down and rests her forehead on his, eyes closed. In a way, Bellamy knows this should probably be awkward, but it just feels so natural. For some reason he can’t quite name, it feels like he has known Clarke his whole life, not just a couple weeks. He brings one hand up to run his fingers through her hair, keeping her close to him. 

“Yeah, that would be pretty nice.”

Clarke smiles and leans back but before she gets too far she drops a kiss to his forehead. “Okay, enough moping, old man. I need to pee, move your head.” 

Bellamy chuckles and watches her get up. He would drive with her forever if she asked him to. No question about it.

***

They spot the water park just outside of Vegas. Clarke tries to change the subject in order to distract him from the inevitable, but Bellamy has none of it. 

“Hey I’m pretty sure that there is some museum on westward expansion a few miles up.” 

“Oh, really?” Bellamy flicks the blinker on. 

“According to the brochure I picked up at that rest stop its very informative and even includes an audio tour and a feature length film.” 

“Really? And they are both included in admission?” He starts to pull off the highway onto a ramp. 

“Yes, totally free of charge so why don’t we just turn around up here and-”

“Clarke, this is happening.”

“The museum? Yes, I know. That’s why I’m giving you directions to-“

“You do realize this is a lost cause?” Bellamy asks as he pulls into One Eyed Willy’s Water Wonderland. 

Clarke groans and drops her head onto his shoulder theatrically. “Please, Bellamy. Do not make my first experience with a water park be one centered around a one-eyed, pervy looking gold miner. His name sounds like a euphemism for a dick.”

“Well, first of all how dare you insult One Eyed Willy or his name? Second, its already done you can’t back out. Third, there is no way in hell I am letting you pass up your first water park being called One Eyed Willy’s Water Wonderland.” 

Her blue eyes look up at him pleadingly. To be honest, it’s a pretty solid tactic that would work on him if this wasn’t such a golden opportunity to tease her, see her in a bathing suit, and watch her experience something he loved as a kid. 

“Bellamy, I almost went to med school. Do you know how bacteria infested these kinds of places are? Especially a shit hole like this? Because I do. They are gross.” 

“Bullshit. You kissed an animatronic dinosaur covered in thousands of grubby little kids’ germs.” 

“That’s different.” 

Bellamy doesn’t answer; instead he just gets out of the truck, raises an eyebrow in challenge, and barks out a laugh as Clarke pushes herself out his open door with scowl. 

***

One Eyed Willy’s Water Wonderland really is a shit hole. But Clarke looks damn good in a bikini and the corny gold rush themed, 70’s style, overcrowded, bacteria-filled water park is worth every penny as soon as he sees her wide grin on the other side of her first water slide. 

And hey, if he catches her staring a little too long at his chest before insisting on floating down the lazy river in one shared inner tube, that’s just a bonus. 

***

True to character, Bellamy insists on their first stop in Vegas being the mob museum. Clarke, as expected, weighs in with a snide comment but doesn’t fight too hard. They spend a while at the museum, Clarke insisting on speaking in the most pathetic attempt at a mobster accent possible and quoting ‘The Godfather’ whenever able. Bellamy just rolls his eyes at her and pokes her sides. 

When they finally make it to the strip, it’s agreed that they can’t pass through Vegas without at least trying to gamble. That’s why they end up in some over the top casino, Bellamy mourning the fair amount of money he lost, money he really couldn’t spare, and Clarke celebrating her winnings. It’s a little scary, honestly, how competitive the blonde got. She treated Craps like it’s life or death. In the end he’s glad she won more than she lost because he would bet what little he had left she would not leave the casino peacefully. 

“I may suck at I Spy but at least I can win when it counts,” Clarke boasts, her grin wide as she trades in her chips for cash. 

Bellamy sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll just have to depend on your sense of charity from now on.” 

“Yeah, because you weren’t doing that already,” Clarke snorts.

She means it as a joke, but it does make Bellamy feel a little guilty. “If you ever want me to pay for our room or something-”

“Bellamy,” she stops his rambling with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “This was our deal. Honestly, I have no problem with it. Besides, you chip in for food and gas all the time.” 

“I know it was our deal but-” 

“Its okay, I don’t mind being your sugar daddy.” 

He raises an eyebrow and tries to hide his growing smirk. “My sugar daddy huh? Does that make me your arm candy?” 

“No,” she responds, her fingers fishing around the bottom of her empty martini glass for the gaudy, huge, plastic ring that the casino used to make their drinks even more Vegas. Wiping it on her shirt, Clarke grabbed his hand and tried to slide the ring on his finger. It only fit just above his knuckle causing her to huff in frustration. “You’re my trophy wife.” 

“Oh lucky me.” Bellamy isn’t able to hide his smile this time and grabs her hand before she can pull too far away. “Here,” he murmurs, slipping the ring onto her finger where it fit snugly. “To the winner go the spoils,” he says by way of explanation, shrugging sheepishly. 

Clarke just beams up at him before theatrically admiring the ring on her finger. “Oh, Bellamy. I thought you’d never ask.” 

Rolling his eyes, he wraps an arm around her shoulder and leads Clarke back outside to the strip feeling like he just won a million dollars. 

As it turns out, while the ring may look obviously fake to Bellamy and Clarke, it looks like the real deal to the hotel employee checking them in later that night. Apparently Vegas weddings lived up to their reputation. 

“Congratulations,” the woman smiled, winking at Clarke like they were in on some secret. “Are you interested in one of our honeymoon suites or an average room?” The way she said the latter suggestion sounded like something nasty on the bottom of her shoe. 

“We’re fine with just a normal room,” Bellamy replied quickly, not wanting Clarke to be roped into paying more than she had to. 

“Honey, please.” Clarke swatted his chest and looked up at him with her big blue eyes. “Its our wedding night after all.” 

He nearly chokes on air at the dirty smile she’s giving him. 

“You two are just too cute,” the hotel worker chimes. “You know, we do have a deal going on right now. If you purchase tickets for a bus tour of the city through us you get 10% off your room.” 

“Did you hear that, dear?” Clarke asked, turning back to him with a seductive smirk dancing on her lips. “I want our first night of marriage to be special.” 

Two can play at this game. He suddenly grabs her hip tightly and looks at her with as much want and adoration as he can muster. “Anything for you, pumpkin.” Clarke’s eyes go wide and he feels a shiver go through her at his husky tone.

“Perfect!” The receptionist smiles brightly. 

When they are in the gold and marble elevator leading them up to their honeymoon suite Bellamy turns to Clarke. “I can’t believe you just did that.” 

“What? You played along too.”

“This room is $3,000 a night, Clarke.” 

“No, its $2,700 with the deal.” 

“Yeah, plus $200 bus tickets, wow we saved $100.” 

She rolls her eyes and he half expects her to say something about this being their first fight as a married couple. “Bellamy, I won over a thousand dollars today. I really don’t mind splurging on this. Honestly, I would do it even if you weren’t here. It’s Vegas, right? Go big or go home.” Her voice is soft, like she is trying to reassure him. 

Bellamy sighs. He wants to say a lot of things. He wants to say thank you, to tell her he feels awful that she paid so much even if she has money, that he wants to pay her back but really can’t afford it, that the way she looked at him with so much want downstairs, even if it was fake, made his whole body itch to touch her, that there is a part of him that wishes they really had gone to some shitty drive-thru chapel. Instead he just says, “It would be pretty sad to get a honeymoon suite by yourself.” 

“Well good thing you’re here then,” she replies gently, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Though it’s a little embarrassing to pretend I’m married to such an old man.” 

They both laugh as the elevator dings. 

The room is pretty impressive. Its huge, including a sprawling kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, one of which houses a California king sized mattress, and a large bathroom with a Jacuzzi. The whole place is covered in candles and roses and ugly little paintings of cupid. Its marble and gold and velvet and so very stereotypically Vegas that Bellamy thinks it is right up there with the moo motel and their alien room in Area 51. 

“That Jacuzzi is definitely being used tonight,” Clarke declares. Bellamy blushes like a thirteen year old at the implication of her words. “But first dinner.”

They order room service and eat on the balcony watching the strip light up as the sun sets in the west. Afterwards they both change into swim suits and climb in the Jacuzzi, laughter cutting through the palpable tension when the water lights up neon pink and creepy porno music begins to play when they turn the bubbles on. “I really hope they clean this tube thoroughly after people check out,” Clarke says, smiling grimly. 

“God damn, Clarke. Why do you have to put that image in my head? Gross.” 

She cackles. “Says the man who made us go swimming in One Eyed Willy’s Water Wonderland.” 

Bellamy splashes her from across the Jacuzzi causing her to shriek. Her legs slip against his under the water and Bellamy’s heart stutters. 

Despite the two bedrooms and the spacious California king, Bellamy and Clarke end up sleeping pressed up to each other, her back flush against his chest. 

***

Its just past the city limits of Las Vegas that the issue of San Francisco is finally addressed. Clarke, now in the driver’s seat, asks him where the next big stop is, to which he simply replies, “San Francisco.” 

“Really? You don’t want to go up the coast first? I was thinking Portland might be fun.” 

“Ah, you’ve forgotten about my ulterior motives for this trip.”

She hits the steering wheel in realization. “Octavia! She’s in San Francisco?” 

“Bingo.” 

Uncharacteristically, Clarke doesn’t make the ‘old man’ comment Bellamy has come to expect after he says something like “bingo.” Looking up from their map of Nevada, he studies her drawn face. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel nervously and Bellamy knows her well enough at this point to sense her agitation. “Everything okay?” 

Clarke throws a glance in his direction before biting her lip. A beat passes between them before she finally responds. “Is this okay? Like me still being here and all?” 

“What?” 

“I mean when you agreed to taking me back in DC I’m sure you thought it would just be a couple days and I would give up.” 

Well, yes. He did think that originally but he certainly had no regrets about those predictions turning out wrong. “Clarke, if I didn’t want you here I would make it pretty clear. Where is this even coming from?” 

She shrugged and leaned back a little further into the seat. 

“Clarke.” 

“Fine,” the blonde huffed as she passed the car ahead of them. “Its just… I don’t know, is it weird that I’m still here? You are going to see your sister and I’m just this girl you picked up and it just seems weird. Does she know I’m with you? Is it okay for me to go?” 

“No, I’m going to dump you on the side of the road just outside Sacramento. Of course its okay, Clarke. And yeah, this whole situation is a little weird but I’m not complaining.” The last sentence is out of his mouth before Bellamy even thinks about it. As he watches color rise in Clarke’s cheeks he can feel a blush creeping over him as well. Oh well, it’s not like he didn’t mean it. He has no complaints. 

“But Octavia knows?” 

“Yeah, of course.” The lie is out of his mouth before he can stop it. In hindsight, yes, he probably should have told Octavia back in DC that some random girl was coming with him. But when he thought about it back then it just sounded so stupid and he knew she would talk him out of it. By the time they crossed into the Midwest it just felt too late. Now, a day away from Octavia’s house, Bellamy is just realizing that he should have pulled the Band-Aid off early. Clarke seems to read straight through his lie. 

“Really?”

“Yes. Really. Now shut up so I can figure out which route to take.” 

She is silent for another moment, no doubt trying to decide whether or not to push the issue. Ultimately Clarke settles for turning on the radio, throwing out a snide comment about using a GPS, and drops the subject. 

Bellamy glares down at the map trying his very best to not think about how much he wants Octavia to meet Clarke. Until this moment he hadn’t really realized how much he wants Octavia to like her; how much it means to him for Clarke to meet and like Octavia. Trying not to read too much into these newfound feelings, Bellamy barks out directions and pushes his baseball cap onto Clarke’s head so she stops squinting into the sunlight. 

*** 

Clarke is in a gas station getting them snacks and drinks when Bellamy finally calls Octavia to let her know that he won’t be visiting alone. Unsurprisingly, Octavia thinks he is insane. 

“Wait, so you are telling me you just met this chick in a diner and agreed to take her with you? How stupid are you, big brother?” 

“She made a compelling argument. It’s free lodging, Octavia. And she’s been helping to pay for gas and most of the food so-”

“She could be a serial killer. Or some deranged person. Or out for your money!”

He can’t help but laugh at that. “What money, O? I’m up to my ears in student debt and I quit my job at the publisher’s and at the bar.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“Thanks.” Bellamy can hear Octavia sigh on the other end as Clarke emerges from the store holding up a bag of his prized Bugles with a wide grin and a wink. He gives her a thumbs up. “Hey, I need to go, okay? I’ll call you later.” 

“Yeah, sure. Just don’t get murdered.” 

“I’ll try.” 

“Is she cute?”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything.” 

“Ah, now it all makes sense. Are you fucking?”

“Octavia!” 

“Don’t be such a drama queen. I’ll let Lincoln know, but if we all end up dead or robbed I’m never going to forgive you, weirdo.” 

“Love you too, O,” he replies with only a bit of sarcasm in his voice. Clarke opens the door and puts the bag of goodies on the bench between them like an offering. 

“Love you too, big brother. Even if you are the dumbest person I know and only think with your-” 

Bellamy hangs up quickly and turns to his companion who is already digging into a bag of Cheetos. “Ready?”

“Don’t you want to look at our spoils?” 

He shakes his head with a fond yet exasperated smile and pours out the contents of the bag. Among her bags of jellybeans and Starbucks drinks is a bag of Bugles, a carton of Whoppers, and some carrot sticks. “You’re the best, you know that?” 

Clarke blushes furiously at his words. “Yeah, sure. Just start driving, old man. Seriously, who the hell asks for carrots as a snack? You are such a mom.” 

“If only our chariot were a minivan instead of a truck.” 

“You would be in heaven.” 

After pinching her shoulder he pulls back onto the road with a grin on his face. 

*** 

Their last night before reaching Octavia is spent in the Californian desert. Bellamy suggests camping out and Clarke suggests ditching the tent so they can sleep under the stars. 

As they lie practically on top of one another, stubbornly squished together in their single sleeping bag, Bellamy points out more constellations as Clarke tells him various facts her dad taught her about space. 

They imagine what it would be like to live up there, above the world and amongst the stars. 

Clarke falls asleep on Bellamy’s chest as he rambles on about Odysseus and Penelope and Bellamy feels a little like the hero himself, finally arriving back in Ithaca after years adrift in the ocean. 

***

Bellamy senses Clarke’s growing agitation as they get closer and closer to San Francisco. 

“Hey,” he murmurs, reaching across the bench to grab her hand. “What’s up?”

“Nothing.” Despite her answer, she grips his hand tightly. 

“She’s totally cool with you coming. You aren’t imposing at all.” 

“It’s just… Never mind, its stupid.” 

“Clarke.”

“You haven’t seen her in a while and this was suppose to be a trip to see her and I’ve just forced you to-”

“Clarke, I want you to meet my sister,” he says, voice a little thick as he cuts her off. It’s a little embarrassing to admit and it feels like he is admitting something bigger, but its not a lie. Besides, it seems like its something she needs to hear. 

Clarke runs her fingers over his knuckles. “Really?” Her voice is soft and unsure. 

Glancing over at her, Bellamy smiles. “Really.” 

He turns back to the road but doesn’t unlink their fingers. 

*** 

Octavia is waiting in the grass outside her small house, her chocolate lab, Frito, playing tug-o-war with Lincoln behind her. Beaming, she runs over to the truck as Bellamy pulls it to a stop. Her arms are around him as soon as he’s out of the car and Bellamy can’t help but laugh with happiness into her dark hair. 

“I can’t believe you drove all the way out here, you idiot.” 

“Yeah, well I still can’t believe you moved all the way out here.”

Clarke is standing awkwardly by her door, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her tank top. 

“You must be the crazy hitch hiker my stupid brother picked up.” 

“Octavia,” Bellamy warns, but Clarke just laughs.

“Yep, that’s me. You can call me Clarke, though.” Clarke’s eyes widen as Octavia pulls her into a hug. 

“Well, thanks for not murdering or robbing my brother.” 

“Thanks for letting me crash his visit here.”

“Oh no, the more the merrier! Come meet my boyfriend, Lincoln.” 

***

They stay at Octavia’s for a week and time seems to fly by faster than it does on the road. 

Octavia and Lincoln take a few days off from the kickboxing gym they own together in order to spend time with Bellamy and Clarke, taking them to all their favorite haunts around the city. Over cups of coffee and the best ramen Bellamy has ever had in his life, he blushes as Octavia tells Clarke every embarrassing story about him she can remember. They are introduced to his little sister’s new friends, Jasper and Monty who own the comic book store next to Lincoln and Octavia’s gym, and Nathan Miller, Monty’s fiancé who insists on being called Miller.

After Lincoln and Octavia have to go back to work, Bellamy and Clarke explore the city on their own. They spend their first day together wandering around the San Francisco Museum of Fine Arts, for once a museum that Clarke requests to visit. 

On their last night in San Francisco, Octavia and Lincoln host a barbecue. The evening is clear and warm, a slight breeze keeping the insects at bay and making the fire Lincoln built in the backyard pit whip around as it sent sparks skyward. Jasper is picking lazily at a guitar, the tune vaguely reminiscent of some song Bellamy had heard way too much on the radio during the drive here. The two couples of the group, Monty and Miller and Octavia and Lincoln, are playing some card game at the table, plates full of chips and fruit salad pushed aside. Bellamy is sitting by the fire, leaning back on a bench, watching some more of Octavia's friends, two women named Maya and Harper, tossing twigs and sticks into the flames when Clarke sits down next to him, handing him a fresh beer.

"So," she says, leaning back to mimic his position. "Was it worth the drive?"

Bellamy can't help but smile. "I suppose. I mean, it kind of sucked having this crazy hitch hiker with me but I guess it was worth it."

"Yeah, I know the feeling," Clarke replies, leaning into him a little bit. "I had to travel with some grumpy old man who kept trying to listen to NPR."

"That must have been really hard for you."

"Oh, it was."

They fell into comfortable silence for a few minutes, both watching their newfound friends and enjoying the quiet, summer night.

"It does make me feel better," Bellamy mutters, breaking the calm.

He feels more than sees Clarke turn and look at him. After weeks together the heavy gaze of her eyes feels familiar on his skin. "What does?"

"This," he gestures out at the yard vaguely. "Seeing Octavia happy and settled makes me feel better about all this, about her moving out here so far away from me. I've known Lincoln for a few years now, as long he and O have been dating, but it still freaked me out to have her move across the country with him, especially since she is only 21. But being able to see that the business is working out, that her house isn't falling apart, that she is stilly happy with him and has made good friends; it makes it easier to let go I guess."

"I'm glad," Clarke responds softly, laying one, small hand on his arm. "She really is doing well out here."

"Yeah, when she told me two years ago she didn't want to go to college and wanted to focus on personal training, I nearly had a heart attack. But it's clearly worked out." It’s true. That had been the siblings' biggest fight to date, bigger than when she had told him she was moving to California with Lincoln to open their own gym. Lincoln great aunt had lived in San Francisco and left him her house in her will and both he and Octavia saw it as an opportunity to start a new life together. Bellamy hadn't felt similarly. Even so, the argument paled in comparison to when Octavia informed him that, despite her multiple acceptance letters, she wanted to skip college and focus on becoming a personal trainer. For Bellamy who had grown up seeing college as his way out of poverty, it was the opposite of what he wanted for his baby sister.

"I can see why she likes it here so much," Clarke muses, pulling Bellamy back to the present.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," she replies, smiling up at him. "Its a cool city. Part of me wants to move out here too."

For some reason her comment makes Bellamy a little nervous, but he can't really place why that is. "You could stay, you know. If you wanted. I'm sure Octavia would let you crash until you found your own place. There have to be jobs for med school drop outs who are really just tortured artists here."

"Maybe."

A beat passes between them.

"Or you could come home with me."

Bellamy knows the insinuation of his words, even if it wasn't intended, but can't bring himself to clarify what he means. Clarke's smart, she'll know he just means driving back to the east coast, but if she decides to interpret that as more, well that's on her.

"If I stay here I'll just worry about you driving back. You'll probably stay in more creepy murder cabins and pick up another stranger who turns out to actually be a murderer."

He can't hide the smile that blooms across his face. Without hesitating too much he reaches out an arm to pull Clarke closer to him. They stay like that, curled a little too close together watching Frito fetch the saliva covered ball Jasper is throwing to him. From across the fire Octavia locks eyes with Bellamy, pointedly looking at his arm thrown across Clarke's shoulders, her mouth quirking up into a smirk. She raises one, perfectly shaped eyebrow causing him to roll his eyes in response.

***

Bellamy sits back on Octavia’s couch and flips through a photo album on coffee table while Clarke showers. Before he gets the chance to see more than a couple pictures, Octavia plops down on the couch next to him. 

“You really like her, don’t you?”

He swallows hard. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, please. Don’t pull that shit with me. You can’t stop staring at her with those puppy dog eyes and all you have talked about is her since you got here. Clarke had us stop at this place, Clarke likes to sketch, Clarke is from DC, Clarke hates pickles,” Octavia replies, her voice dropping several octaves to imitate him. 

Bellamy rolls his eyes and leans back against the cushions in defeat. He carefully listens to make sure the shower is still running before turning back to his little sister. “I mean, she’s pretty great.” 

The brunette’s face softens. “She is, big brother. You should let her know.”

“I don’t want to fuck it up. I fuck up every relationship, O. Besides, if she doesn’t feel the same way then we have to endure an extremely awkward trip back to DC.” 

“Bellamy Eugene Blake, if you think that girl is not into you then you are truly hopeless.” 

Eyes wide, Bellamy turns to his sister. “What?”

“Look, I gave you a hard time for doing nothing but talking about her and looking like she hung the sun in the sky, but she does the exact same thing with you. You should have seen the way she was looking at you when you were playing with Frito yesterday. Or when you and Lincoln came back from that run. She is into you. For God’s sake, the woman has spent every waking moment with you for the past twenty-five days, which, by the way, is excessively long for a cross-country road trip, which can technically be done in two days. If she isn’t sick of you by now then she probably never will be.” 

The shower turns off upstairs and Bellamy locks his jaw. “Maybe.” 

“Definitely. Have some faith, big brother. You may be a total dork but she seems to be into that sort of thing.” 

“Thanks,” he retorts sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

Octavia laughs and he can’t help but smile. “Anytime,” she replies while ruffling his hair affectionately. “Just be careful. I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

“She says after telling me to go for it.” 

“After years of listening to your contradicting advice, I get to give a little every now and then.” With a smirk his sister disappears into the kitchen. Dropping down on the couch, Bellamy rubs his face in agitation and indecision. Leave it to his little sister to complicate things. 

***

Bellamy packs up the truck again while Clarke stands on Octavia and Lincoln's little porch, hugging them both and exchanging numbers with Octavia. He isn't in a great mood between the advice Octavia offered him that morning and now facing the challenge of saying goodbye to his baby sister again. When Clarke meets him by the truck she offers a small, reassuring smile before hopping into the passenger's seat.

With a heavy sigh, Bellamy turns to Octavia. "Well, I guess this is it, O."

"Don't act like you are never going to see me again, Bell."

He tries to smile but it falters and a moment later Octavia is in his arms hugging him tightly. 

"I love you, big brother. Thanks for coming to visit."

"Love you too, O. Stay safe and call me."

"I'm pretty sure I'm suppose to be the one telling you that," she laughs. "You're the one driving across the country with some weirdo."

"Hey," Clarke calls, false anger in her tone. It just makes Octavia laugh again.

"Be careful you two," his sister says before turning back to Bellamy and lowering her voice so only he can hear. "And remember what I told you. Nothing good gets away, but you need to take an active part in making sure she doesn't."

There is a part of Bellamy that wants to protest; to tell his sister that he has only known Clarke for a month and its stupid to talk about her like that or to assume that she has the potential of being 'the one that got away.' There is also a part of him that realizes the truth in his sister's words, though.

"Bye, O. I'll call you later today," is all he says, planting a kiss on his sister's cheek. "See you, Lincoln. Make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble."

"I don't think I have much of a say, but I'll do my best," Lincoln replies with a fond smile. Octavia rolls her eyes at the men but lets Bellamy pull her in for one more hug. Seconds later, Bellamy is sliding into the driver's seat running a nervous hand through his messy hair.

"Ready?" he asks Clarke.

She smiles widely at him as she takes his baseball cap off her head and shoves it onto his. "Ready."

**Author's Note:**

> Bonus points if you spotted the Steinbeck quotes, Taylor Swift references, and general pop culture nods. 
> 
> In the second half the rating will either earn its M or go up to E so there's that for you. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! Second half is about 1/3 of the way done, and I have other fics that need attention, so no promises on when it will be out but hopefully soon!


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